


No Smoke Without Fire

by unhurt



Category: Canadian Actor RPF, Canadian Actor RPF (C6D)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-28
Updated: 2006-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhurt/pseuds/unhurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Callum is pretty, Paul is a prince, and Hugh is a mythical animal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Smoke Without Fire

**Author's Note:**

> RPF without much "R".

  
**Whatever After (1)**

Sitting on the edge of the bed with his bare feet in the bars of sunshine sneaking through the blinds Callum rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the hat in his hands in confusion.  
"This is insane," he muttered. Behind him the heap of blankets shifted in annoyance and Hugh's shock of morning hair appeared.  
"No talking. C'mere. Still sleepy." Callum sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He stuck the baffling hat under the bed and slid back under the covers. Hugh hooked an arm around his waist, dragged him closer and shoved a face-full of morning stubble into the angle of Callum's neck.

 **Who's A Pretty Lady?**

When Callum woke up he knew he was having a bad dream, one of those bondage ones where the keys got lost and his wrists started to hurt and eventually the paramedics would arrive and it would turn out one of them was a fan - of Canadian cinema or Canadian music, it didn't much matter which. Only, those dreams didn't usually feature big rocks with metal staples in them, to which he seemed to be - he tugged experimentally - shackled? Or - wait. What the fuck was he wearing? He checked in case he was imaging things, or imaging _more_ things, and slumped back against the boulder with a huff of disbelief. A dress, off-white, kind of girly, which for a dress was perhaps not so surprising, except this was a really rather dressy dress. At least it has long sleeves, Callum thought a little hysterically. And a modest neckline. Further cataloguing of his situation revealed that he was also, thank god, wearing his jeans and boots. Callum thought he probably looked a little like that chick in Labyrinth, at the start, in the park. Except for the hat. He couldn't raise his hands as far as his head, but it felt tall and kind of precarious, so he shook it off onto the ground. It was tall. Tall and cone shaped, with a scarf attached to the point. Wonderful, Callum thought. It looks like I'm Princess Fucking Rennie for real today.

A dragging, crunching sound made him jerk against the chain and squint into the mist. He squared his shoulders, glanced down at his non-existent cleavage, and turned as far as possible in his bonds to face whatever it was that was approaching. If it's David Bowie in tights, he thought, at least I'll know this really is just my subconscious fucking with me.

Just a dream, just a stupid fucking dream, he repeated to himself as the jagged shadow loomed closer. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, and there it was, exactly as he'd expected, the natural enemy of fairytale princesses everywhere -

"What in the name of fuck? _Hugh_?"

 **Ridicule Is Nothing To Be Scared Of**

Callum sat on a rock in the small cave – lair, he supposed - with his skirts hitched up onto his knees and the hat shoved into his girdle - he wanted to take the stupid dress off, but it was chilly outside and he didn't have a shirt - and just looked. The furrows between his eyebrows deepened and he massaged the bridge of his nose and scrubbed at his eyes. He was definitely getting a headache. He wished he had his glasses. Hugh shifted uncomfortably under his intent gaze, dislodging a couple of small stalactites in the process. Finally Callum shook his head.  
"You look like _you_." He waved a hand at Hugh's blunt spiky head. "You even fucking _sound_ like you. Only, for some reason you're a fucking great dragon."

Hugh-the-dragon rolled an oversized brilliant blue eye. "Tell me something I don't fucking know. I don't even know how I got like this. Everything's fucking hazy, man. It's like-" he stopped and dropped his head. Callum waited.  
"Like?" he prompted gently.

"It's like trying to remember a bender. I know this stuff happened, but I can't fucking _place_ it, okay? Jesus. Just like after a bender, but I wasn't, Callum, I swear on my big black impossible scaly new fucking wings, I-"

"Hey, hey, hey. I know." Callum stood up quickly and without even thinking he had closed the distance between them and was gently slapping an open hand onto Hugh's jaw - a gesture he'd used time and again in the past, half blow, half caress. The neat little scales there were smooth to the touch, and warm under his palm, so he let his hand rest there for a moment. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay. I mean, this is insane, yeah, but we can do insane. Hell," and he grinned up at Hugh, "I play insane every other week, right?"

Hugh made a noise like an old radiator coughing, which Callum took to be a snort of laughter.  
"Yeah. We can do this. Only, whatever we're doing can we do it soon? I can't even fucking jerk off in this body."  
Callum also snorted at that, and gave Hugh a look. "Charming." There was flash of white - those were some big teeth. But clearly Hugh's sense of humour was its usual refined self even if everything else was going myth-shaped. He glanced back along Hugh's side.

"They're not scaly, you know." he observed. Hugh shifted and half turned to follow his gaze, moving the wing Callum had been looking at. He twisted his neck, trying to get a better look, and kept turning until he was brought up short by Callum's chuckle.  
"What the fuck is so funny, Rennie? It isn't smart to mock the firebreathing monster."

"Just never seen a dragon chasing its own tail before. Come back here."

Hugh repeated the radiator death-rattle and shifted his forequarters in what might have been a shrug before swinging round. His head stopped inches from Callum's, side on, and tilted a little. Callum tried not to grin. Even in dragon form it was pretty clear that Hugh was checking him out.

"So, hey. Do you often wear a dress in your subconscious fantasies, or is it just in the ones featuring me?"  
Callum's half-smile vanished.  
"Hey, fuck you, Dillon! That's not helping."  
"Uh uh. Not in this body. Another goddamned reason I would like my own back," Hugh sounded aggrieved.  
Callum raised both hands in apology.  
"Okay, my foul. You're the one with the bigger image problem." He started to drop his hands and paused. "Hey? Can I?" He gestured with his left hand.  
There was a short silence.  
"Go on then. I don't know what they feel like though."

Callum ran fingertips over the big scales on the ridge of Hugh's neck, then followed them downwards. They got smaller and smaller, meshed beautifully together. The hide on his throat was soft to touch and very warm. He let his fingers slide up under the heavy jaw, and startled back at the deep rumble that vibrated through the cave. It stopped abruptly and Hugh's voice was almost whiny.

"Aw. Don't stop."

Callum smiled to himself and stepped back in. Stroked the spot gently, then a little harder. The rumble returned, the pitch cycling with Hugh's breathing. He felt his smile spread into a grin of pure - pure something, not quite joy but close. Close enough. He was petting a mythical monster, and it was Hugh. And he was _purring_. He shook his head and when nothing changed he leant forwards and rested his forehead on the dragon's cheek. Hugh's head shifted just a little, pushing back gently, and Callum curled his free hand round a spine on Hugh's muzzle, closed his eyes and let everything else take a back seat.

After a while - ten minutes, or maybe half an hour - Callum lifted his head and frowned. "You hear that?"  
"Hear what? I just hear that you stopped doing that thing with your hand."  
Callum punched him on the jaw. "Shut up and listen."  
A faint rhythmic clanking filled the pause.  
"The fuck is that anyway?"  
"I'll look. You stay put and try and think human thoughts."

...

Callum squinted down the valley. He thought his headache was getting worse. Aware that this was not going to be well-received, he called back to Hugh.  
"So, things are getting even fucking stranger around here. It's Paul. On a horse. A huge white horse, and he's in armour. Very shiny armour. I think he might have blinded the sheep. Oh, and he really needs a haircut."  
Hugh made a rude, snorting, rattling noise behind him.  
"Gross is your white knight? Well that fucking figures. What's your title anyway, Princess Fucking Slut Features? Jesus."  
Callum turned to glare at him. "Well. That's new. I've never seen a dragon sulking like a ten year old girl before."  
"Until today you'd never seen a motherfelching dragon before full stop."  
"Oh, and you had?"  
"Yeah. See, in my house when I was a kid, we had these things called books, and some of them even had pictures of made up stuff in them."  
"Pictures don't count."  
"Fucking do. You know what a- an okapi looks like. You've never seen one of those for real, but you've still seen one."  
"No, I haven't, because I have no idea what an okapi is. What the fuck does some other made-up animal have to do with this and didn't I say to stay inside the fucking cave?"  
"It's not made up, you dick. It's like a zebra only-"  
"I don't care if it's like an aardvark, I-"

Paul coughed behind them.  
"Excuse me. Don't stop on my account. I'll just wait until you've finished bickering before I start my manly heroics shall I?"  
Seated straight-backed on the charger, lance lowered at Hugh's head, Paul was the very picture of the knight errant. The image was only slightly spoiled when he opened his mouth.  
"Callum, you old bastard. Crossdressing, kidnapped and bitching at your abductor? What am I going to do with you?"

...

"So. You're a prince?" Callum was having a hard time keeping the smirk off his face.  
"Of Calgaria. Yes. Yes, I know."  
Paul looked uncomfortable, but it was hard to remain diffident while got up in shining armour, so he shook his hair back and explained.  
"I'm supposed to be rescuing a princess. Apparently this is the necessary prelude to marrying her and living happily ever after."  
"And I would be?"  
"The princess. Well. At least, you're in the right place and wearing the right dress, so it does appear that you're the one."  
"And Hugh?"  
"Hugh?"  
Callum half-turned on his heel and pointed a thumb at the dragon, who raised his spiny hackles with a sound like cans being crushed and flashed his teeth in what might have been a grin.  
Paul didn't look perturbed.  
"So, you're the dragon. Huh, interesting. I'm supposed to slay you, you know that right?"  
Hugh sneered. "Says the man wearing a sardine tin. Wanna try and take me with your little toothpick? I always knew you were compensating for something."  
"I'm not really worried," said Paul. "I've read a few books myself, you know. The slimy lizard always loses."  
"You arrogant fucking cunt!" They said in unison.  
Hugh hackled up and sucked in a breath. Paul snatched up his sword and shield and struck a manly pose. Callum pushed the heel of his hand into his forehead and swore quietly before stepping between them.

"Paul, as a pre-wedding gift, please don't slay Hugh. And sit down. Hugh-" Callum waited for the growl that had started at 'wedding' to subside. "Hugh, you too. Thank you. Jesus. Children."  
He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it in sweaty spikes, and sat down himself.  
"Right."

Callum met Paul's gaze, arms folded across his chest. He was managing to maintain a certain air of cool despite his outfit, and despite the fact that he was now sprawled in the crook of the tail of a very possessive dragon. Eventually he broke eye contact and sighed.  
"Look. I'm tired here. Let's try and work something out."  
His seat shook as Hugh growled something under his breath. Callum ignored him and reached automatically for his cigarettes, only remembering they weren't there as he did so. Paul cocked his head and smirked. He reached inside his breast-plate and pulled a crumpled packet out of the lining. "Smoke?" he drawled.  
"Please," said Callum and caught the packet tossed across. He had one in his mouth and a hand in the pocket of his jeans before he realised his lighter wasn't there. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at Paul.  
"Sorry. Left my zippo in my other armour."

Callum was about to crumple the cigarette up in disgust when Hugh shifted beneath him and muttered,  
"Am I fucking puff the invisible dragon now? I breathe _fire_ , retards. Something the tin-can wearing members of our little party might wanna remember."  
"Don't mind him, Paul. He's just pissed because he can't masturbate."  
Callum pulled a second cigarette out of the pack for Paul, and turned to Hugh. "Make like a zippo, then." he said, getting to his feet.  
Hugh glared and then emitted a belch of flame, sending Callum and Paul stumbling backwards. Before Callum could get beyond, "Stupid-" he was interrupted by Paul.

"Guys? Small problem. My backup are here."

Two humans and a dragon peered cautiously out of the cave at the distant but noisy mob making their way up the valley.

...

The mob was uncomfortably close now. Paul's horse had taken fright and bolted, and Hugh had an arrow wedged between two of the spikes near his tail. It was definitely time to leave.

"So, can you actually fly, then?"  
"The fuck? What kind of a question is that, Gross?"  
"It's just that-" Paul hesitated and glanced at Callum who was about to pull himself up behind Hugh's neck. "Well, your wings are kind of stumpy looking."  
Hugh was outraged.  
"They. Are. Not. Fucking. Stumpy! Now get on me or I'll leave you to the brute squad."  
"Whoa, just wondering." Paul turned and hauled himself up behind Callum, grinning smugly. Point to Gross. He stopped grinning a few seconds later when the world wrenched backwards and he discovered that whatever other laws of physics an airborne dragon flouted it did not come with inertial dampers.

In the confusion that followed there were clouds, damp and straggly then thick and wet and baffling, and a cacophony of yelling and cursing, not least from Hugh. A small hail of arrows passed unseen to their left. They turned and rose steeply, Callum started to slip off until Paul yanked him back by the bodice of his dress, which ripped at one seam. Staring dead ahead into the featureless grey fog as Paul scrabbled at the buckles on his breastplate, hoping to ditch some weight, and Hugh swung his head back and forth, wings pumping, searching for a gap or clear spot, Callum was the first to yell.  
"Left! Fuck!" He dug his boot heel in on that side.  
Paul was shouting too, "Turn left! Christ, Rennie, can't you steer this thing?"  
"What's that?" bellowed Hugh and twisted his neck round to hear better.

Which was when they hit the cliff.

 **Whatever After (2)**

The second time Callum woke up it was to the familiar sound of Hugh complaining.  
"Callum? Wake the fuck up, you lazy cunt. Are you even listening to me?"  
He opened one eye.  
"What? What? And, Christ, move over, you're lying on my arm."  
Hugh shifted a little, and Callum sat up, rubbing the circulation back into his arm, and trying to glare at him. Hugh made this difficult by looking crumpled and worried and, for once in his life, uncertain, which twisted Callum up a little inside.  
"This is going to sound fucked up."  
Callum nodded, as much to himself as to Hugh.  
Hugh went on, "Had a dumb crazy-ass dream, right."  
"Right."  
"You were in it."  
"I know."  
"Yeah, well- wait, what? How the fuck do you know that?"  
Callum pulled his best I-am-dealing-with-a-retard face. "Because, me too. What was your problem?"  
Hugh grimaced. "I smell of fucking brimstone."  
Callum sniffed. He really did. They stared at each other. Callum decided not to mention the hat. Maybe it wouldn't be there later. Maybe if they stayed in bed until later became much later.  
"Maybe we're still asleep. Or we should go back to sleep and wake up again."  
"Yeah, yeah. Good plan." Hugh wasn't done though. He tugged pointlessly at the sheet, then his own hair, then stopped. He sighed. "Uh. Look. Maybe we should phone Gross. Just to make sure he's, you know. All right. Right?"  
Callum cocked his head and let Hugh stew for a moment before he smiled, then stretched himself out on the bed again and hooked his cellphone of the bedside table.  
"C'mere." He patted the sheets next to his hip.  
Hugh lay down, propped on one elbow with an arm across Callum's ribs. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over Callum's tattoo, waiting.  
"Right," said Callum. "Do you want to text him or will I?"

...

[hows yr lance 2day? do u want to stikc it n me? d.]

...

The third time Callum woke up, his life was utterly normal again.

"Callum?"  
"Jesus, now what?"  
"You wanna play with my dragon?"  
He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.  



End file.
